“We’ve got to get Miss Breen home,” he said, speaking abruptly to the foreman. “Get two of the boys to rig up a stretcher.”
“Where does she live?” inquired the other.
“Elkhorn Ranch.”
“So?” The foreman looked surprised. “That’s where Macmillan stayed. Some folks from there came in about seven o’clock to claim his body.”
Nash frowned. Macmillan living at the same ranch as Miss Breen! Perhaps this explained something definite as to the cause of that certain night’s affair.
Fifteen minutes later Miss Breen came to. She was still very weak, and Nash did not question her, much as he would have liked to do so. Instead, he gave her in charge of two of the boys, who carried her down the slope where the ponies had been left. Here she was lifted to a saddle, and supported on both sides, while the journey toward the Elkhorn Ranch was begun.
Nash, meanwhile, indifferent to the strain he had been under, and to the questions which still puzzled him, immediately issued orders, and the remaining group of men, led by himself and the foreman, tramped over the hill and down the opposite side to where the tunnel mouth yawned.
It took the best part of an hour to remove the débris from the drift, and to repair the broken wire. With this completed, they went down to where the horses were grazing, and were shortly on their way to camp.
“We’ll postpone the fireworks until to-morrow night,” Nash said, in answer to the foreman’s inquiry.
The foreman apparently was realizing what a narrow escape Nash had suffered this night, and the single incident that had prevented the explosion.